


give steve rogers a break

by stonyholic



Series: Hurt!Steve One-Shots [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22648993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonyholic/pseuds/stonyholic
Summary: Steve Rogers experiences an anxiety attack in a supermarket while shopping. The only thing is—Steve Rogers has no idea what anxiety attacks are.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Hurt!Steve One-Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330034
Comments: 15
Kudos: 188





	give steve rogers a break

**Author's Note:**

> as you can see i do not have a title i'm just telling myself to Give Steve Rogers A Break, but we all know that's not happening soon, sorry not sorry (the real reason i gave it this title is because i'm Dumb and didn't know what to name this pointless one-shot). okay here's the fic, i hope you enjoy it. <3

He doesn’t see it coming.

Steve is standing in the middle of an aisle, brands and foods and tools he doesn’t recognize overflowing the shelf in front of him. He’s just shopping. A normal, human activity. He only has to pick up what Tony wrote on the list and put it in the shopping cart, then head to the cashier to check the items out before he gets back to the tower. It’s a simple enough task, yet he’s standing frozen in front of hundreds of bags of chips, crushing the handle of the cart in his hands.

He has a moment of vertigo, the world spinning around him before he suddenly loses his footing on earth, suspended between two separate times, two separate generations and beliefs. Something grips his throat like a vice, and Steve can’t breathe, which is stupid because nobody is standing in the same aisle as he is.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

_Tony. Call Tony._

Steve reaches for his pocket, hands numb—and shaking uncontrollably, he just realized—for an inexplicable reason. He finally retrieves his phone, fingers trembling so much he almost drops it onto the floor. He doesn’t understand—he’s not being attacked, he’s not in danger, yet he feels suddenly bare for the world to see, scared and helpless and close to panic.

The phone starts dialing, but Steve doesn’t have the strength to put it to his ear, so he stares at the dial page, praying and praying that Tony will answer. Maybe he’s sick. He usually isn’t so eager for any help, even in danger, but this time, something just feels _wrong_.

“—Rogers? Hello?”

Steve almost drops the phone again and has to will himself not to crush it in his hand. “To—Tony?”

“Hey, Capsicle, is something wrong?”

Steve doesn’t usually mind nicknames, but this time, it sends ice crawling through his veins, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut, hating how his heart is racing too quickly to be normal.

“Tony—I can’t—there’s something—I can’t breathe.”

“Hold on, where are you? What’s happening? Are you in danger? JARVIS, locate Steve for me.”

“I—I’m—I don’t know, there’s nobody—I don’t—” Steve realizes with horror that the helplessness constricting his chest is crawling upward and forming a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening, goddamnit, he can barely think.

“Hey, JARVIS says you’re in the supermarket a few blocks away and safe. Is that true? Where are you?”

“I’m—I don’t—I am—”

“If I may, Sir, Captain Rogers seems to be experiencing a...psychological reaction to his surroundings,” JARVIS’s voice filters faintly through the phone.

“What—” Steve hisses through clenched teeth.

“Wha—oh. Oh, shit. Okay. Hey, Steve? Steve, can you look in front of you? Tell me five things you see.”

 _Why?_ Steve wants to ask, but he knows if Tony is asking him to do it it must help, so he tries. 

“I see a, um, bag of chips. Lays. Barbecue flavored. And—and Pringles—green—” Steve chokes off. “Sorry, I can’t—can’t concentrate—sorry—”

“Steve? It’s okay, take your time. We have time.”

“I see—coca cola candy,” Steve says, feeling a gasping feeling in his chest that he always felt as a child when he was about to cry.

“That’s it, keep going,” Tony encourages.

“And marshmallow. Is that—is that five?”

“One more.”

“Um, Doritos. It’s—it’s cheese flavored.”

“Good,” Tony’s voice is unusually gentle. “Now take a deep breath.”

Steve tries and ends up gasping.

“It’s okay. Another deep breath.”

Steve closes his eyes and forces his lungs to take in air. _Inhale. Exhale._

“Steve.”

Steve startles and looks up to see Tony standing at the end of the aisle. “Wha—Tony—why’re you—”

“Hey, I came as fast as I could.”

“What’s—what’s wrong with me—”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Tony says, suddenly fierce. He looks like he’s about to say more, but stops himself. “Can you give me your hand?”

Steve raises his hand, aware of how violently it’s shaking and how he can’t _control_ it.

Tony takes it and places his index and middle finger against his wrist. “You feel my heartbeat?”

Steve nods.

“Listen. Breathe.”

Steve does. Tony’s heartbeat isn’t the most steady, probably because he _did_ hurry over, but it’s regular enough for Steve, feeling the soft beating against his fingers.

_Inhale. Exhale._

It takes a while, and Tony has to hold Steve’s wrist to keep his hand from sliding off from all the shaking, but Steve slowly feels the world right itself, the blurring at the corners of his eyes focusing, and his pounding heart slows, little by little.

“That better?”

Steve nods again. HIs knees feel weak.

“Let’s get you back to the tower,” Tony says.

“But what—what just happened?”

Tony swallows. “That was an anxiety attack, Steve. I don’t... I don’t know what triggered it, obviously, but it’s more or less a psychological reaction to your surroundings.”

“That doesn’t—it doesn’t make sense.”

Tony glances away for a second, then looks back. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

“Not that I know of.” Steve hopes it doesn’t happen again, considering how shaken he still feels after the whole thing.

“It might happen again and—you should—you can call me, if it does.”

“Why? Why will it happen again? Am I sick? Is that even possible?”

Tony looks reluctant, but he keeps going. “Steve... I think we both know that you’ve been through a lot in your twenty-something years of life, and these life experiences _do_ things to people. It’s impossible to come out of it unscarred—”

“Why are we talking about my life?”

“Anxiety attacks, panic attacks, they result from trauma, or stress—”

“So I _am_ sick. And weak.”

“No. It means you’ve been through too much for anybody to handle. I would know,” Tony lowers his gaze, “because I have them too,” he says, voice growing small.

Steve stares at him, stunned. “Oh.”

“Then... then when does it stop?” he asks.

“Maybe never.” Tony won’t look at him.

“... Oh.”

“This could be a fluke, or it could be a first to many. I don’t know, Steve, but I know what it feels like. I want to help.”

“Do I... do I need a therapist?”

“If you want.”

There’s a pause where neither of them know what to say.

“Thank you, Tony. This is probably hard for you, too.”

Tony looks up at him incredulously. “You’re insane, Rogers. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Trust me, I’m freaking out,” Steve smiles wanly.

“Come on, let’s go back,” Tony says, winding his fingers through Steve’s.

It’s a weird feeling, holding Tony’s hand, but it feels safe, so Steve lets himself be held. It’s a small comfort he hasn’t had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> please don't forget to give kudos/comments if you like this!


End file.
